


A Good Man

by Anonymous



Category: TDDUP - Fandom, Till Death Do Us Part (Visual Novel), Till Death Do Us Part - Fandom
Genre: And it ended up having a lot of my real-life feelings pour into this, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, F/M, Family Issues, Flirting, For a certain value of "happy", I just meant to vent about one or two things, Lawyer!reader - Freeform, M/M, Marcus is surprisingly not very violent in this one, Melodrama, Mild Sexual Content, Mild emotional manipulation, No really I'm honestly surprised how much I ended up venting into this one, Other, Probably because the protagonist keeps hurting themselves, Reader-Insert, Slight Canon Divergence, Suicide Attempt, Yandere, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 22:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12285477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Your mother made you promise her that you would marry a good man.





	A Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, long time no see. I started writing this fic at like, 8 PM and it is currently 6 AM the following day and I have a class later. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I think.
> 
> Also, a little side note: the reader-insert protagonist of this story is Filipino, or at least grew up in the Philippines. Because like EP, I too have no self control. But their appearance as you read the story is still up to you. Citizenship doesn't equal race, after all.
> 
> Some terms that will appear in the story:  
> Anak - my child (this is not the name of the protagonist)  
> Kare-kare - a really delicious dish made with peanut sauce
> 
> TDDUP and Marcus belong to electricpuke

_Marcus is a good man_ , you think, when you first met him. So you helped him out.

It was a simple enough case, one that he was probably used to. Wise guy perpetrators like to think that they could one-up the cops apprehending them by slapping an administrative charge for impudence on them or something. Aria, your boss, was working on the other, larger case that got you and Marcus into this mess in the first place, and you don't want her to have to take her attention off of it for something as simple as this. So you told her you could handle it, even if she knew you weren't so fond of appearing in court yourself, preferring to act as your superior's legal researcher most of the time.

The lawsuit lasted a year. Your relationship with your client and your boss's friend was professional enough. Still, you couldn't help but notice the way he looked at you during the tail end of your time together, tracing the lines of your face and your body with his eyes as you tried to focus on discussing the details of the case with him. Gymnophoria, you had once read, was the sensation that someone was mentally undressing you. It seemed like an apt word to describe the feeling.

When the trial ended and Marcus walked out of the courtroom with a favorable not-guilty verdict, you almost missed the attention.

–

 _Marcus is a good man_ , you assure yourself, when he suddenly appeared on your doorstep one day.

He was in his uniform, and you were concerned for a split second about what might have happened to bring him to your place, until he produced a large bouquet and a shit-eating grin.

He wanted to properly thank you, he said, for appearing on his behalf. You tried to play it cool, telling him that you were just doing your job, putting on the mask of the consummate professional that you would wear in the performance of your official duties. However, you found that it was a lot easier to maintain in the courtroom, when the person you were addressing was a bench away. Not when they were mere inches from you, tilting your head up to look up at them, their fingers caressing your chin and your bottom lip and sending goosebumps down the length of your spine.

Still, he pulled away, chuckling at your dumbstruck expression.

"It's fine," he said, walking backwards to his squad car, shrugging. "But I still wanna thank you properly. Might come by your office to pick you up for coffee."

"See you around." He winked, getting into his car and driving away.

You absently ran your fingers on one of the "flowers" on the bouquet he gave you. It felt strangely rough. You looked down at it, realizing that it was a bouquet of lingerie, and you blushed hard.

It distracted you from wondering how he learned your address in the first place.

–

 _Marcus is a good man_ , you realize, the more time you spend with him.

As forward as he was when he first asked you out, you learned that he didn’t really have the luxury of time like you initially thought. He was a driven individual; he was a dedicated police officer, and he loved his job. You found him often canceling dates on you because of something coming up, and when you started living together, sometimes he would get home when you were already asleep and already gone by the time you wake up. Most people would probably take issue with it, but you didn’t. In fact, it’s probably how you fell in love with him.

Marcus was a charming guy, and he knew the right words to to say to anyone to have them swooning over him. However, he learned that flattery didn’t get to you that well. Sure, you would blush and stammer a bit, but he found that if someone tried to fluster you, you knew how to quickly bounce back, the way a bird’s feathers easily settled back into place after getting ruffled. You would attribute it to your training as a lawyer. Ironically enough, it was the times when he feared that he would lose your affection is when he got it; when the two of you were out for dinner, and he had to excuse himself to take an important phone call, only to come back and apologize, because there’s a disturbance in the next street over and he’s the closest cop, even if he was off-duty.  You watched him go with a sense of admiration.

One time, on the way to work, you came across a police blockade as you were passing an intersection. Someone had held up a bank, and were holding several people inside hostage. Something must have happened, since the officers suddenly rushed into the building, gunshot noises and screams following soon after. After a few tense moments, the officers came out, escorting civilians out of the building. You recognized Marcus among them. He was holding his side and was walking with a slight limp, but he continued to aid his colleagues in evacuating the hostages. He led a small boy to an ambulance, wrapped a shock blanket around him, and stayed and talked with him for a while until the paramedics took his place. It was only then he sought treatment for the wound at his side.

You couldn’t concentrate on work that day, your mind preoccupied, much to Aria’s exasperation. Especially considering you came in late.

-

 _Marcus is a good man_ , you told yourself when he proposed to you. _He would be a fine husband_.

And it was true. You’ve been with him for several years at this point, and had you been anyone else you would have said yes in a heartbeat. But you were you; the person who was born to a family held together only by the strength of your mother’s will. She tried her best to give you a normal childhood, one that you could look back on, but as you grew up, the more perceptive you became. The more you saw the cracks in your parents’ marriage. The fights they would have in the room next to yours. You never saw them hit each other, nor did you notice any bruising between the two of them, but somehow that was worse to you, since that meant their scars ran deeper than the flesh.

Growing up, your mother would always tell you to work hard and to stay in school, so that you would have a better life than her. When you were a child, you thought that this was just what parents were supposed to say. But as time went on, it sounded less like a gentle reminder and more like a command. Eventually, it got to the point where she would recollect her own childhood traumas to you when she said it, constantly reminding you that her own parents were too busy fighting and sleeping with other people to take care of their children. You would feel her grip your shoulders as she said it, and you would feel your heart drop to your stomach each time. At first, you tried to ignore it, tried to smile and laugh like all the other kids in school, to play along with the façade that your mother had built up for you, naively thinking that if you pretend hard enough, things would go back to those blissful days when you were young.

Then one day, when you were fifteen, during a particularly rough patch for the family, she pulled you aside, looked straight into your eyes, and said,

 

“ _Anak, promise me that when you grow up, you will marry a good man.”_

 

You generally consider that the day you stopped being a kid, wiping the starry dreams of a nice, suburban home with a spouse and a child or two of your own out of your eyes. You grew to resent both of your parents; your father for being a deadbeat, and your mother for stealing away your childhood with her constant reminders to do good in life that soon started sounding like threats. Maybe it wasn’t fair to them, but that was how you felt and you couldn’t really change it, no matter how you tried. You grew distant from your family, isolating yourself even further than you already were. You didn’t really have any friends you were really close to. The moment you got your college degree, you took flight for the United States, looking for a better life, like so many of your fellow countrymen before you.

You thought you’d left that all behind when you fled here, continents away. But somehow, the roots of your origins still bound you to your past. You’ve had people who you loved dearly leave you because you were too afraid to commit, too afraid of repeating the cycle of hate.

You broke down in his arms, startling him, and you told him as much. You held onto him for dear life, afraid that if you let go, he would vanish, like everybody else who promised that they’d love you no matter what. In the back of your mind, you could faintly register the feeling of his arms, strong and solid, holding you, whispering reassurances and promises into your hair.

“It’s alright, I’m here.” He repeated, over and over, until you stopped crying.

Eventually, he was able to get you to agree to marry him, screaming out your assent and your pleasure as he roughly drove you into the mattress, finding release deep inside you.

–

 _Marcus is a good man_ , you chant to yourself in your head, as your worst fears come true.

You had been apprehensive, to say the least, when he proposed that the two of you go to Manila for your honeymoon. You had worked so hard to leave that place, and you weren’t exactly very keen on going back. But when Marcus looked you in the eyes, held you close, and promised you that as long as you’re with him, you will never have to go back to that broken home ever again, you had to agree.

_You had began to find it hard to say no to him, nowadays._

You weren’t quite into the club scene, and you often found yourself looking around apprehensively for someone who might recognize you, but you were happy enough to see Marcus having fun tearing it up on the dance floor while you sipped at your drink at the corner of the bar. Every so often, someone would come up to him and flirt, which he would indulge for a while, before gesturing back to you. You’d smile and wave at him, and if you were particularly drunk, you’d blow him a kiss, and it was always funny watching the other person either apologize profusely or get pissed off. Later, the both of you would retire to your hotel room, though Marcus would never let you sleep until the light started peeking out from the horizon and you were so very sore, his seed leaking out of you.

It was after one such night that you were awoken by your phone ringing on the nightstand on your side of the bed. Body still aching and mind still foggy from the thick haze of drowsiness, you answered the phone without checking the caller.

“ _Anak, I heard from your cousin that you were in Manila, and that you were with a man at a bar. Come home right this instant.”_

The sound of your mother’s voice, edged with the threat of reprimand, woke you up from your stupor like ice-cold water down your back. Running on primal fear and instinct, you got up, showered quickly, dressed up, and left with only your phone and your wallet. Waking Marcus up didn’t even cross your mind; you were too terrified to think about anything else.

When you got to your parents’ house, the one you grew up in, your mother and father were waiting for you at the gate. Your mother didn’t say anything to you, not a trace of _welcome home_ or _are you doing well_ in her expression, not even when you greeted her face to face for the first time in a long time. She didn’t want you to say anything other than to explain yourself. Your father had the traces of a smug smile on his face, like he was happy to see you, his child who was more vastly accomplished than he was, get knocked down a peg. You swallowed back the bile building up in your throat. You’ve gone against your mother’s expectations for you. She was so proud of you, when you told her that you had gotten a law degree in the US, had passed the bar in the state you set up residence in, and were gainfully employed in King Law Offices. You thought that it would have been enough for her, to know that you had achieved her standards of success and more. You thought that she would let you live your life the way you wanted to from then on. You thought that a distance of eight thousand, two hundred and twenty-two miles would make her leave you alone. But, like always, you were wrong. You were always wrong.

When you got back to your hotel room, 36 missed calls and 84 unread texts from your husband, Marcus had damn near torn up the place looking for you. You would have probably been concerned for him or guilty that you didn’t tell him anything before you left, but you were so emotionally drained, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything. You didn’t even react when he practically pummeled you into the ground in anger born from worry.

When he saw that you didn’t even whimper in pain, he stopped. He picked you up, and set you down on the bed in a sitting position, asking you what’s wrong, the feeling of his caresses so different from the way he wrapped his hands around your neck just a few moments ago. Drawing in a shaky breath, you told him about your mother calling that morning. Meeting up with your parents at your childhood home. The guilt and the fear. Remembering it made you wretch, and you ran to the toilet and threw up. Marcus held your shoulders, keeping you from falling forward. He would rub your back as you dry-heaved. There was still a gravity in his expression, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you anymore. Perhaps it was directed at your parents, for upsetting you like this, or at himself, for failing to protect you like he promised, or even just as his duty as your husband. Afterwards, he helped you clean up, brought you to the bed, and held you tight until you fell into a fitful sleep. The next morning, the two of you went back to the US, spending the rest of your honeymoon at your ( _real_ ) home.

You never went back until after your parents died. It was an unexplained freak accident.

–

 _Marcus is a good man_ , you thought sadly, as you stood in a courtroom, litigating your own divorce.

As if your ill-fated honeymoon had been some kind of omen, your marriage didn’t work out. It had started well enough, with Marcus there for you every step of the way as you tried to pick up the pieces of your shattered self-esteem. Eventually, you got back into the old rhythm of your life, the comforting sounds of typing and the scent of brewing coffee were much-missed features of the welcome mundanity of the King Law Offices.

At first, you thought Marcus’ propensity to demand that you text or call him constantly throughout the day was his worry about your mental state, given everything that’s happened. But even as you got better, he never let up. In fact, he put even more restrictions on you, demanding that you be home at a certain time, that he be informed of where you are at all times, and that he have remote access to your phone.

The last straw was when he demanded that you retire.

In another life, the thought of being a stay-at-home spouse would have probably been a great luxury. Maybe there, you would have loved to let Marcus handle being the breadwinner between the two of you, spending your days at home gardening, cooking, reading, carpentering, or whatever your heart desired, your pet cat Munchie at your side. But whenever the thought crossed your mind, you didn’t picture yourself living the quintessential life of one, a pot of _kare-kare_ simmering over the stove, as you answer the door and welcome your husband home with a passionate kiss. Instead, you saw yourself in your father’s place, wasting away in front of a television, eyes glassy and barely cognizant, some insipid garbage playing. You couldn’t take even the mere possibility of it.

That day at work, you started filing your own divorce papers.

Aria was his legal counsel. They had known each other much longer than either of you had, so you didn't mind. You had to resign from the King Law Offices because of that. Conflict of interest and all that. The both of you understood as much, and there were no hard feelings between the two of you. Marcus didn’t object to it. Not that he could in the first place, since it was a no-fault divorce due to irreconcilable differences.

You couldn’t blame him for wanting the kind of marriage that he tried to force on you. You just weren’t the right person for him.

You met his eyes from across the room. His expression was unreadable. You wondered if he could see the contrition in your eyes.

When court was adjourned, the divorce granted and the property settlements arranged, you shook Aria’s hand, and watched them walk out of the courtroom and your life.

–

 _Marcus is a good man_ , you reminded yourself, when you encountered him again for the first time in a long while.

You’ve once heard that when a couple gets divorced, there’s always one who ends up better off, and one who ends up worse. You haven’t heard anything about Marcus since the final hearing, but you were pretty sure that you were the latter.

You got a new job as a notary public at the city you settled down in, after some period of drifting. The pay was decent, you guessed. You never really had any vices that would strain your income or anything. You filled up your new studio apartment with all manner of succulent plants, trying to fill the empty spaces in your new life with _something_. You didn’t really have much furniture to your name; a vanity, a small coffee table, and a divan where you slept ( _it was a gift from Marcus_ , you remembered). Munchie sniffed around the small space, familiarizing herself with the new environment.

You soon fell into a routine that consisted of waking up, taking a bath, getting dressed, commuting, working, coming home, watering the plants, feeding the cat, and spending the rest of the evening surfing the Internet until you fell asleep. You didn’t have a stove at your new place, so you bought all of your food outside, storing leftovers in the mini-fridge and microwaving them for breakfast in the morning. You acquainted yourself with your new colleagues, but you never made any meaningful relationships, and any invitation was turned down. At night, the sounds of the city filled the silence of your home. The solitude was relaxing, in a way. Your life was finally, truly, your own.

However, not even the humble peace you finally achieved lasted forever. On the way home from grocery shopping one day, you were stopped by the sight of police sirens behind you. You felt a knot form in your throat and in your stomach. _Come on, get yourself together_ , you told yourself, pulling to the side and rolling down your window, _it couldn’t possibly be him. You’re in a completely different city, and he’s never put on traffic duty in the first place-_

The officer appeared at your window, and you looked into the face of your ex-husband.

–

 _Marcus is a good man,_ your dying mind said, as you lay on the cold floor, with a tenuous hold on life.

When you got home after the encounter, you could barely breathe. You slammed the door shut, scaring Munchie, who ran away to hide somewhere, leaned back on it and bonelessly slid to the floor. Grocery bags tipped over at your sides, you covered your face with your hands, trying to stop the tears and the sobs from spilling out of you. You weren’t prepared to see him again. Nothing could have prepared you for that.

When you looked into his eyes, all the misery and guilt that you had been suppressing came flooding to the forefront of your mind. It took everything you had to keep yourself from crying and to talk to him while suppressing the quiver in your voice. When your hands touched when he was returning your ID and registration papers, you felt yourself missing his touch and his embrace. The way he would hold you at night or when you were troubled. When you saw him drive off, you felt your chest tighten.

God, you were such an idiot to just let him go.

Eventually, you decided that you were tired of all the grief, self-loathing, and pain. Slowly getting up, you moved sluggishly, as if wading through tar, towards the kitchenette, and opened your medicine cabinet. Tucked away in the back were some old sleeping pills that the doctor prescribed to you shortly after the incident during your honeymoon, when you would sporadically wake up in the middle of the night.

_Marcus had been the one to insist you get medical help for that. You would have never done it yourself._

Unscrewing the cap, you dumped all of the contents onto the counter. You stuffed them one by one into your mouth, wincing from the subtle burn that came with dry-swallowing pills. When you had finished them all, you felt Munchie rubbing herself on your legs. Oh, right, you should probably let her out, before you fell asleep. You moved towards the door, a heavy fatigue already settling in your bones, and opened it slightly, just enough for Munchie to dart out. You watched your beloved cat retreat and disappear at the corner of the hallway, before you closed the door, collapsing to the floor as soon as you did.

You could barely move, now, and the tug of somnolence is getting much harder to resist. You give into the feeling, taking solace in the comfortable embrace of unconsciousness and its offer of respite from all of your grief and loneliness.

If you couldn't achieve happiness in life, perhaps you could find peace in death.

Yes… this is how it should be.

Distantly, you could hear someone calling out to you.

–

 _Marcus is a good man,_ you thought, as you lay in a hospital bed, all sorts of tubes coiled around your limbs.

The next time you awoke, there was an unbearably bright light behind your eyelids. Moaning slightly, you willed your body to move, but you felt like you were weighed down by concrete. You could faintly register someone to your right saying something, but everything was all foggy and your head felt like it was underwater. As consciousness returned to you, you realized that it was a nurse. Seeing you awake, she rang the call button, and left the room, and was soon replaced by a doctor.

He asked you how you were feeling, then apprised you of your situation. Apparently, your ex-husband had found you sprawled out on your apartment floor, having overdosed on pills, then rushed you to the nearest ER, where you were now. Thankfully, you had received treatment fast enough that no lasting damage had been done. However, it was recommended that you be placed on suicide watch.

When he said this, someone entered through the door. Marcus was startled to see you awake, and immediately rushed to your side, asking after you. He and the doctor discussed your condition for a while, which you couldn’t follow in your stupor, before the doctor left you alone in the room with him. You tried to avert your gaze from him, but he held your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, saying your name.

“Look at me,” he commanded, threat and concern present in equal parts at his tone. You looked into his face, expression still unreadable, and stayed like that for a few moments

“Marcus…” you called out, throat hoarse from disuse, just for the sake of saying something. You couldn’t bear the silence between the two of you any more.

“I’m sorry… I just felt so miserable after everything… I was an idiot, thinking that I could leave you…”

You let out a pained sob.

“I’m such a mess. Why did I ever think that I could be okay without you?” You cried, tears running down your cheeks, all the pent-up emotion you’ve built inside rushing out like a dam breaking. “I’m so pathetic.”

He let out a breath through his nostrils, as if he was holding it in for a while, and placed his other hand on your head, running his fingers through your hair. You leaned into his touch, craving the feel of his skin after being away from it for so long. Bringing his face close to yours, he placed a kiss on your forehead, your nose, and your lips. You whined when he pulled away, chasing after him, and he kissed you harder this time, fervently, like a man possessed, but still gently, minding your condition. You moaned into his mouth, savoring the familiar feel of his lips; soft and slightly chapped, exactly the way you remember it.

Surprisingly, he was the one who broke the kiss first, gripping the sides of your face in his hands, and leaning his forehead on yours. He never took his eyes off of you, as if you would disappear again when he looked away. Weakly, you placed your hands over his, feeling the warmth of his hands flow into your cold ones.

“Don’t ever think to leave me like that again. I will do whatever it takes to find you and to bring you back to my side, where you belong.” Marcus said, and squeezed you a little tighter.

You smiled back at him, looking lovingly into his gaze.

“Yes, I promise. Never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> _
> 
> I just realized this is probably the first TDDUP fic in Ao3. I'm kinda scared, lol.
> 
> Also yeah, I'm surprised how much of myself ended up in this fic. A lot of the family issues and insecurities in this one are things that I actually deal with or fear dealing with. Sorry if got a bit much, but so far I'm fine with how the story is. Just please don't tell my parents this exists.
> 
> In other news, HAHA WOW LOOK AT THAT WORD COUNT. I THINK THIS FIC IS EVEN LONGER THAN MY MADOKA FIC. I think I fell for Marcus harder than I thought.
> 
> If you were wondering, Marcus caught Munchie. He left her back home while he brought the protagonist to the ER. She's probably eating the socks.


End file.
